After and Again
by martha smith
Summary: As he starts to come to terms with who he is now, the Doctor finds himself faced with pre-destiny. If we know somethng is going to happen, something amazing, are we willing or, even obliged, to sacrifice the present for that shining future?
1. Chapter 1

**A.N: SPOILERS for The End of Time Part Two...though I suppose it goes without saying....but still: SPOILERS.**  
**Will hopefully be updated regularly as I reckon I have some ideas.**

**Disclaimer: RTD doesn't own it. By default, I do.

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He staggers around the TARDIS, hesitating before throwing each lever and pushing each button because everything is so new and different and strange...but he's forgetting something important again. Oh, yes – he's crashing. The TARDIS is damaged and spinning out of control – and somewhere, somehow his instincts pull through. His new hands, new eyes, new mind know how to fly a TARDIS blind-folded, with both arms tied up, with an entire Dalek Empire hot on their heels.

Somewhere in the spinning and the long drawn-out tones and the sparks that somehow still fail to surprise him, he realises something is...different...but not in the to-be-expected way.  
"Oh," his eyes widen, his eyebrows shoot up and a mass of fringe falls forward onto his face. Impatiently, he brushes it aside to stare at the TARDIS scanner.  
"But-but-but that's impossible!" he splutters, and can almost _hear _the echo: _Not impossible, just a bit...unlikely..._but, like the fringe, he brushed it aside. This wasn't good. Again, an echo: _That's gotta be good? A dazzling smile. Yeah.  
_But it wasn't. Not this time. Because he was different. There would be no "Run!", no dancing around and with each other, no glittering eyes and laughing half-said truths. Just fear, and suspicion, and no recognition. For her, it would open up any old wounds that _he_ would have tried so hard to heal.  
But still. For him, it would be the one reward he never thought he'd get.  
Was it selfish of him, thinking like that?  
Maybe.

**Darlig Ulev Stranden  
**She holds the torch in her hands, shoulders shaking...from _grief_, she tells herself, not relief. She is _grieving _and _sad. _As long as she keeps reminding herself of that.  
"Rose, love?" Jackie has been standing a few yards behind, keeping a respectful distance.  
"Rose, it's time," she coaxes. "You can't just stand here, the torch, it's starting to burn your fingers..."  
"Yeah," Rose whispers, and finally touches the torch onto the pyre. "Bye."  
She can't stand to watch it burn, but she knows she has to. Has to wait, knowing that this is it. Has to keep her eyes fixed on _him_, and she has to remember. No one will let her forget...

_-x-_

They did try. Rose didn't even think that he noticed that there was something wrong with her. However, he was determined to let their relationship build slowly. She was grateful for that, at least. After a month of "dating" and shy kisses, Rose decided that she'd had enough. Any hopes of the rift reopening were long diminished and tucked away in her subconscious. Anyway, she realised, she _was_ happy. John was like The Doctor in so many ways. Besides, he was the only Doctor she would ever have. So Rose formed a plan. No more holding back, no more excuses from either of them.

Rose Tyler was going to _seduce_ John Smith.

_-x-_

A week after their first time together, John proposed. Rose said yes, as she always knew she would. Rose had never been unrealistic. This was her best chance of happiness. And…she was very fond of John. In a way.

_-x-_

So it was that just two weeks later Rose found herself staring at a blue line. She smiled and placed a hand on her abdomen. Donna, she decided. Donna or…Mickey.

_-x-_

Rose could have kicked herself. She should have phoned John as soon as she knew, she should have run to Torchwood Tower and told him herself, she should have made a national broadcast on the TV…she shouldn't have waited.

OK, she _could _have told him as soon as he got home that evening. She _could_ have told him the next morning, or the next week…but she hadn't wanted to.

For her, this child was the Doctor's child. Not John Smith. And, above all, somewhere in the back of her most secret thoughts, she wanted to tell the Doctor first.

Then, it was too late.

_-x-_

Rose got the news at three o'clock on a Sunday morning. She heard the men telling Pete and Jackie at the door, and hid under her quilt. Disembodied words and phrases floated up to her.  
_Metacrisis…no idea…thought it was a migraine…intensive care…I'm sorry._

_-x-_

Rose sat at his bedside every day for three months, even though she knew there was no hope. She didn't _know_ why she knew this, she just did. But still she sat by him and talked. About Torchwood, about her brother Tony, about Jackie's plans for a swimming pool…

She never mentioned that his child was growing inside of her.

_-x-_

Rose watches the flames until they flicker lower and lower, until white ashes are all that remain. Ashes, and the smell.  
Is she being irreverent, thinking of the _smell_ of all things now?  
Maybe.

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**AN: If you're thinking, oh, here she goes into her little denial-dream world again, NO that's honestly not where this is going. Promise.**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This scene was so, soo hard to write...hope you appreciate it!!  
Disclaimer: RTD doesn't own it. Therefore, I do. QED.

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Rose was aware of the grinding, drawn-out tones before she heard them. Then she walked away from the ashes, and simply stood, and waited, as the TARDUS solidified and took shape.  
Silence.  
The door didin't creak, the Doctor's voice couldn't be heard, nothing. Already feeling that something was wrong, and subconsciously fearing the worst, Rose hesitated before taking a step.  
Suddenly, she felt herself running.

The TARDIS door creaked – Rose knew that creak so well, down to its exact tonality – but the Doctor wasn't there. In his place stood a young man with a dark, floppy fringe, who had somehow managed to steal the Doctor's brown suit.  
"Rose?" he asked, unsure of his own voice. And suddenly, she knew. It was all so familiar.  
"Doctor." She says flatly – and somewhere, in the back of her mind, she realises that he looks about her age now. That his fringe looks quite cute. That his eyes are dark, and mesmerising, and the same.  
"But- how did you-"  
"Know?" she almost laughs. "Been there, done that. Besides...the eyes, they don't change."  
"Oh."  
She moves a step closer, hesitantly. He does the same. She takes another. He does too. She reaches out one hand, so slowly, to stroke his cheek, exploring this new face. He is completely still, holding her eyes with his.  
"You..came back," she says after a short eternity seems to have past.  
"Yeah."  
"Why? Why now?"  
"The TARDIS just...brought me here. She's malfunctioning. And I – I think she could tell I wanted to."  
"Oh."  
Silence again. Rose wished she knew what to say. The silence wasn't exactly...awkward, but she felt it was getting there.  
"Doctor, why-"she starts just as he begins to speak, too.  
"What about-"  
And they tail off again, until he asks the question she has been waiting for.  
"What about him? Me, I mean?"  
She only needs to say one word.  
"Metacrisis." His eyes widen, and he nods.  
"I'm sorry, I didn't think of...I just wanted you to be happy, and I didn't know what to do..."  
"Yeah."  
"You were happy, though, weren't you? You and him?"  
"No. I'm sorry, I did try, honestly I did. I stayed with him, we dated and got married and everything, but...all the time I kept catching myself trying to wake up from this horrible dream, where everything is lovely but different, and you don't know who anyone is anymore."  
"But you...I mean, you're..." he tails off, looking anywhere but her stomach. She panics, thinking that she's beginning to show, until she remembers his Time Lord senses.  
"Yeah. I didn't tell him, I couldn't...but I couldn't give it up, either."  
"Oh."  
Silence again, really uncomfortable silence. Then suddenly, passionately, angrily, desperately, he kisses her. It's everything _his_ kisses weren't and couldn't have been...until he pulls away, sadly, softly.  
"Rose. I can't. He's dead – not just your husband, the father of your child, but the me that was him has died. I regenerated and I'm – I'm sorry, but...I'm different now."  
It's beginning to dawn on her, what he's trying to tell her.  
"Yeah?" she asks, her high-pitched voice betraying her mask. "And..."  
"And...well, I did try, didn't I? I honestly did, I came here, I _kissed _you...when was the old me EVER that brave?" He's angry, and hurt, and he starts pacing and shouting. "AND I CAN'T BE HIM! Not for you, or for me, or for anyone. I – just- CAN'T!"  
Silence. Long, drawn out silence. Rose knows, now, what he's trying to say.  
"Right then," she says finally. "I'll just go, then, yeah? Good to see you."  
And she walks away.  
"Rose-" she half turns, hope burning up her insides.  
"Come with me? I mean, I'm not him. I never will be. But...everything he was, everything he _felt_...I'm capable of that too, somewhere. And – and we could travel, and do stuff we used to...it won't be the same. But..." he trails off, and she knows what she's going to say to him.  
"No."  
"What?"  
"No, Doctor. Don't kid yourself. Yes, you might...I dunno, _learn_ to like me, but it wouldn't be who you are now."  
"It could be?"  
"Yeah. Like me and the other one. I. Wasn't. Happy. And...I want you to be."  
He nods, understanding. This is her gift to him - freedom.  
Unable to stomach a goodbye, Rose turns to go. If she doesn't walk away now, she knows she won't. All this new-found maturity and strength...still hurt. As she reaches the doors, he says one final thing.  
"We had the _best_ of times, ey, Rose Tyler?"  
Rose nods. Smiles. And closes the door, softly behind her.

As the TARDIS fades Rose falls onto the sand, a low, moaning sob escaping her lips. As Jackie runs to hug her – "Rose! ROSE! YOU CAME BACK!" – she hastily mops at her eyes. Being cheerful starts _now_.

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**AN: *sob* poor, poor Rose. WHY OH WHY am I so cruel to her? *sob* Next chapter sees the long-awaited appearance of...*drumroll* Miss Pond!**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: Here ya go, I'm late for a lesson now. Ah well. :[  
Cookies for whoever works out who/what the Threat is!  
Disclaimer: RTD doesn't own it. By default, I do.**

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The TARDIS spins horribly, teetering on the brink of falling into Nothingness, and for a while it is all he can do to save them. Then, mercifully, they are home. Well. In the right Universe, for a start. He paces around the now-still console, lashing out and punching random objects.  
"WHY DID I DO THAT?" he yells, his voice echoing hauntingly, and he reverts to silent thought.

_STUPID ARROGANT YOUNG ME! I could have done _so much more_! And here I am, on my own, in a little immature body that doesn't know how to love. AND I CAN'T GO BACK _NOW,_ can I? The TARDIS is OK again, and anyway, why in hell would Rose want me now? I'm just angry and lost and it _hurts_…_

After what feels like a few hours of yelling at his own mind and crying unashamedly, he stops.

Earth, he decides. He needs to go to Earth. Not London, though. Too many people he needs to avoid for a while. Say until the next millennium. After deliberating for a while, he settles on Southampton. He went there once, two lives ago, on the 10th April 1912, to see the Titanic set sail and, foolishly, try to save at least a lucky few. It was (almost) a proper city, with stuff to do and people to meet, but hopefully not so big as to draw attention to any passing-by Judoon or Sycorax. As he sets the TARDIS co-ordinates, a message flashes up on the scanner. Reading it, he laughs grimly, and re-sets the co-ordinates. So much for staying away from London, then.

Amy flails around her bed hopelessly, aiming but failing to hit the snooze button. The alarm is positioned strategically to prevent her doing just that, so eventually she gets up and heads for the shower. Half an hour later, she's downstairs, trying to cram in a croissant without getting crumbs all over her clothes while simultaneously looking for her keys. Mission accomplished, she sets off, waggling her fingers at Kit, sprawled on the sofa, and hollering a "Bye, snore bag!" up to Kerry's room. Walking down the street, she flicks open the script and goes over her lines for a final time.

_Come on, girl,_ she tells herself; _You were_ made_ for this part, you know every single thing there is to know about Excalibur and you have been waiting for this moment since you were thirteen. Or more like three. Just breathe!_

And she manages to calm herself down long enough to run through some scenes and clever, insightful things to say about Grace Fox and her role as companion to the Traveller.

_And anyway,_ she tries to keep in mind; _it's already fantastic to see the producers and casting people this soon after college. OK? Relax._

The audition is to be held in a dingy, forgotten B&B in Bow, so Amy walks rather than catch the Tube. The morning air is brisk, and she pulls on her hat to cover her ears more securely as she takes a shortcut through a windy park. For a second, she thinks she hears a noise that isn't the wind – a haunting, drawn-out sort of mechanical grind – and the creak of a door. But then she focuses on the script again, on Excalibur and Grace Fox, on the person she might be _being_ in just a few months time. Lost in thought, she rounds a duck pond and continues through the park.

And suddenly, she's in the middle of London. But…it's not London as she knows it, it's foggy and smoky and it _smells_, of unwashed bodies and animals and something worse. Amy looks around; there's wooden houses, and are those _thatched _roofs, and the skyline seems alien. OK, there's the Tower,,, and St Paul's…although, hang on, is that scaffolding on the dome of the cathedral?  
"Excuse me!" she shouts, trying to grab the attention of someone, _anyone_, who will tell her where she is. "Excuse me, sorry, where am I?"  
"Eh?" a young man, pushing a wheelbarrow occupied by chattering geese, stops and stares. "What was that, miss?"  
"Where am I?"  
"London, miss. Blimey, you 'ent from round here, right? Is that…I mean, beg pardon, miss, but is it _usual_ for womenfolk to wear those things were you come from?"  
Amy looks down at her skinny jeans, knee-high boots, leather jacket. Something is dawning on her, something strange and terrifying.  
"yes, it is…" she mumbles. "I'm sorry, I'd best get some new things here. What year is it?"  
"Eh?"  
"What. Year. Is. It?"  
"Ooh, you're a _Moor_, 'ent you? But you look too pale…"  
"I'm sorry?"  
"Beg pardon, miss, but I know the Moors use a different calendar."  
"Oh. Right. Yep, that's me," she smiles. "Land of the Moors, that's where home is. So the year is…?"

"1708, in the year of Our Lord. September 15th, miss."

"Right…" she mutters, dazed. "Thanks…"  
Turning away, Amy is lost. She doesn't know how to act, who to talk to, whether or not pinching herself will help it all go away…in the end, she just walks. Walk with a purpose, she discovers, and people are less likely to question you.

"Hello, I'm the Doctor." Amy jumps. This man is…dressed in normal clothes, _modern _clothes, but they're too big on him, and ripped and scalded. Somehow, people seem to just…pass him by, going a few steps out of their way without seeming to notice, until there's an island of just her and him in the middle of a busy road.

"Hello," she manages, caught by the dark eyes.  
"When are you from?" This seems like an odd sort of question, but Amy answers him anyway. Odd, she is beginning to gather, is going to be a bit of a catch phrase today.  
"2010. You?"  
"What makes you think I'm not from right here, right now?" he grins, challenging her.

"You're wearing a pinstripe suit and Converse. You didn't call me "miss" or "Madam". You know I'm from another time. Yeah, I think I can guess you're not a local."  
"Oh, you're good…" he states. "Tell, me…"  
"Amy."  
"Amy? Nice name. Tell me, Amy, where were you?"

"Victoria Park, in London. Why?"  
"Oh, just…wondering. Is there an old house, or mansion, or something, near where you were before you were here?"  
"Not as far as I know…_why?"  
_"Hmnm, now that is odd. Ah well. Come on, this way!"  
And he grabs her hand, tugging her towards the Thames river bank at breakneck speed. Amy thinks that he's answered precisely none of her questions. That something wrong is happening here somewhere. That his hand is soft, and warm. Then, she decides that unanswered questions, wrong things happening, and holding onto warm hands are just something to get used to around this…Doctor. And realises that she's already planning on having to get used to it.

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**AN: Tadaa! I've realised that I FAIL at romance which isn't Rose/Ten. Ah well. *Shrugs* I'll just have to practise, and you dear reader, shall be my test subjects...*evil laugh***


	4. Chapter 4

**A.N: Here ya go, dudes and dudesses! On hindsight, I think that everything in Chapter 2 seemed to go a bit quickly. In my head, the Doctor's all strange and angsty from post-regen trauma but it sorta got lost on page (screen, whatever). Anywho, onwards!  
Disclaimer: RTD doesn't own it. By default, I do. Eh? What was that? Steven who?? You _must _stop mumbling, I can't understand a word you're saying.

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Amy felt rather than saw the Doctor slow down; she had been half-closing her eyes in a vague attempt to block out the 18th Century London around her. They were near the dead end of a little, deserted alley. Leaning against the dusty wall stood a faded-blue phone box. The Doctor took out a little Yale key, and then seemed to check himself. Frowning curiously, he snapped his fingers. The doors swung open, with a sort of welcoming creak. The Doctor gave Amy a charming, slightly cocky grin, and nodded towards it. Feeling faintly foolish, she took a few steps before turning around.  
"Doctor, what-"  
"Just look."  
"But it's only an old police box!"  
"Go on!"  
So she did.

After about a minute, she walked back out again, slowly. The Doctor left a pause, evidently waiting for her to say something, so eventually she asked,  
"Space ship, yeah? Just who the _hell_ are you?"  
"But..." The Doctor's face fell. "You're supposed to say "Oh my gawd it's bigger on the inside!"  
"Oh, I'm sorry..." she shot back. "I'll remember that, thanks. Question: Next time I get sent back centuries into the past, would you like me to yell "Oh my gawd I've gone back in time!" and draw even more attention to myself?"  
The Doctor opened and closed his mouth noiselessly several times.  
"Well...um...OK," he conceded, finally grinning. "Touché, Amy. Touché."  
Amy felt herself grin back, poking her tongue into one cheek – her own personal trademark way of dealing with vague embarrassment. She could feel the Doctor's eyes searching her face, his gaze locked onto hers intently, for far too long.  
"Ahem. Shall we?" he nodded towards his strange...impossible..._weird_ ship, and Amy nodded, relieved. Together, they walked inside, the Doctor immediately setting off about several hundred controls at once. The green column in the middle of what seemed to be the main console started moving up and down, in time with the haunting, grinding noise she was now _sure_ she had heard once before.  
"Um – Doctor?"  
"Yep?"  
"Where are we going?"  
"London."  
"But...we just _were_ in London..." The Doctor looked quite smug at this.  
"London. 2010." Amy simply gaped. "Not all cool-cucumber now, are ya?"  
"It's a time machine?"  
"It's a time machine."  
"Oh..." and she sank back into one of the seemingly random arm chairs, trying to take it all in. Then, something else. "You're...you're taking me home?"  
"Yeah."  
Amy nodded, quickly, and focused on the green column, nearly missing his next sentence.  
"The Weeping Angels, these, these creatures, they send you back into history and live off the energy of all the days you could have lived in the present."  
"So...why me?"  
"Coincidence, _I think._ I don't know much about them at all, really, 'cause they move _so_ fast, and it's usually more like pot luck if I find the victim anyway. See, they have this...defence thingy, whenever anything living, anything at all, is looking at them - they turn to stone. As soon as you look away – WHAM! Move in the blink of an eye."  
Amy bit her lip anxiously. She was in the middle of sorting out the muddle of new facts in her head when the Doctor gave a sudden groan of pain, collapsing on the metal-grille floor.  
"Doctor? You all right?" No reply. "Doctor!" Nothing. Amy fell to her knees in a hurry, tilting the Doctor's chin to free airways, coaxing his limbs into an approximation of the recovery position, hurriedly dragging a great brown overcoat over his body and propping his head up with her rucksack, checking for a pulse.  
_That can't be right..._she thought, shaking her head briskly. _Try again, at the heart, it's clearest.  
_ So she put two hands onto his suited chest, all at once aware of the warmness there, of the vulnerable look on his still face, of the...closeness...of her and him. Then, something so strange, so impossible, so _weird_ sprung to the forefront of her mind so that all other thoughts where put on hold.  
"Impossible," Amy whispered. A rhythm of four, two hearts beating only-just out of synch with each other. "It _can't _be..."  
Sinking back into a random armchair, Amy shook her head experimentally, as if to clear water out of her ears, completely dazed.

After a few minutes of Amy simply sitting there, watching the Doctor intently, she became aware that the ship – box – _thing_, whatever it was, had stopped. The screen fixed to the console – she guessed it was some sort of camera or scanner – showed the duck pond of Victoria Park, exactly as she remembered it. Although she was vaguely worried by the strange, circles-within-circling-circles diagrams which would probably tell her the actual date if she could read Ancient North Pluto or something, but the over-riding need to _do something _won over. Throwing one last look at the Doctor's sleeping form, Amy opened the door quickly – and came face to face with a stone angel, its hands reaching towards her, its eyes wide and staring, its face pulled into a murderous grimace.

_Process. Process. Process. PANIC!  
No. Process. Process. Process. Right. Don't panic. Got that? Good. Remember what the Doctor was saying...they're incredibly fast. Move in the blink of an eye. So just. Keep. Looking at it. No, no, even more; he said "in the blink of an eye"...just focus. Don't blink. Whatever you do. Don't. Blink.

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_**AN: Yeah, reeeelly need to work on the lovey. If they seem like idiotic teenagers crossed wit Rose & Tenth, it's because that's honestly all I have to go on =/**


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